


steal some covers, share some skin

by thatworldinverted



Series: let's talk about sex [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Dom Derek, Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted/pseuds/thatworldinverted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek takes a step back towards the bed, running his hand over sweat-damp hair. His eyes catch and drag on bright blood against soft, white sheets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	steal some covers, share some skin

Derek curls Stiles close to his chest, watching carefully as hazy eyes flutter shut. The elevator ride passes in silence, Stiles not even twitching when Derek shifts his weight to fumble the door open.

Stiles doesn’t come back to himself until Derek settles him on the bed and starts to walk away. The minute Derek’s hands leave his skin, Stiles is jolting awake, shivery and questioning, and Derek’s incredibly grateful that he reserved one of Defixio’s upper rooms for the evening. He wants to do this right, to give Stiles the attention he deserves.

“Derek? Where’re you going?” Stiles slurs out. His voice is fragile, edging towards a whimper.

Derek takes a step back towards the bed, running his hand over sweat-damp hair. His eyes catch and drag on bright blood against soft, white sheets.

“Need to get you cleaned up, baby boy.”

“Oh... okay.”

There’s too much hesitance in Stiles’ response for Derek to be comfortable leaving him, but a critical eye shows him wounds that need immediate attention. “Do you want to walk yourself into the bathroom?”

Stiles doesn’t get further than a pained whimper before Derek is darting forward to lift him off the bed.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart. Let me.” He can’t help the absurd smile as Stiles’ head butts against his chest like a sleepy kitten.

He tried to explain it to Stiles once, this dichotomy. That for as much as Derek needs the hunt, the tang of blood in his mouth, there’s an equal part of him that needs to _care_ , to cherish his boy the same way he protects his pack.

It was ridiculous to think that Stiles didn’t already know. He met Derek’s stumbling explanation with a kiss and the tight clutch of hot palms.

So Derek lets himself have this, gluts himself on skin-against-skin with no demands, just the quiet intersection of two people.

Derek turns on the shower, letting steam fill up the bathroom; it’s too soon to get any deep cuts wet, but the close, humid air feels good against Derek’s naked torso. His jeans are filthy, spattered with blood and come, so he strips them off, lets the steam curl around him.

Every movement is slow and gentle as the washcloth moves across Stiles’ body. Even as careful as Derek is, a series of bitten-off hisses breaks the quiet. He lays a gentle kiss where claw-points dug deep into Stiles’ belly.

Long fingers work their way into Derek’s hair, cupping the back of his head with a lax sort of affection. Stiles is always tactile, but usually it’s a fidgety thing - pokes and prods, shoulder bumps and hip nudges, fingers tap-tapping on his knee in the car.

“Derek, did you...” The hands on his head twitch as Stiles’ voice trails away.

Derek stares up the long lines of hips and chest, meets shuttered eyes and a bitten lip. The tile floor is hard under his knees, the breath caught in his lungs.

He unfolds slowly, trying to marshal his thoughts in the time it takes to get to his feet. He did mean it, is the thing - has meant it for a while. He loves Stiles to a degree that is truly frightening; Derek’s far too aware of the things he’d do for that love. He’d break the world apart at Stiles’ request.

Their lips come together so, so softly, barely more than an exchange of breath. This time, the words slip right out, easy as falling.

“Yeah, I meant it. I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles chases the words back into Derek’s mouth, desperate, hands scrabbling at Derek’s shoulders as he presses close.  He’s whimpering as he does it, little whines as their skin touches, but he just shoves himself more tightly into Derek’s grip.

“ _God_ , Derek, I love you.”

Derek’s palm skids along Stiles’s ribs, slick with fresh blood. Fuck, but it’s tempting; he could give in now, bend Stiles over the bathroom counter and take him just like that, yank his head back and watch in the mirror as he comes all over himself, moans echoing off the tile.

But that isn’t what Stiles needs right now.

Instead he catches Stiles’ hands, winding their fingers together, easing the pace of their tongues. Long, leisurely kisses, the drowsy brush of skin against skin at hips and chest. He coaxes them apart a millimeter at a time until Stiles is quiescent and only half-aware, standing docilely as Derek cleans away streaks and smears of sticky blood.

Warm water and ointment, the steady application of butterfly strips or clear, flexible dressings; it takes time. The cuts are thin and shallow, nothing that should scar. Derek hasn’t asked for that yet, but he thinks he might, soon, wolf-teeth pricking his lip at the thought of Stiles carrying his mark forever.

Once each laceration has been meticulously cared for, he turns Stiles around, spreading his cheeks apart and easing the plug out of his hole.

 _Oh_.

Pink and puffy, _wet_ , a slick trail of lube and come as the plug pulls away - _fuck_.

Derek leans forward, gathering up the taste, the smell of their sex heavy in his nose. He keeps it delicate and easy, pulling away whenever Stiles’ heartbeat slips up a notch. Over and over, until Stiles’ joints are loose and Derek’s chest is rumbling with the simple pleasure of it.

Finally he licks up Stiles’ spine, sucking tiny beads of sweat off the back of his neck.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go to bed.”

The night is starting to catch up with them - even Derek’s stamina is flagging, and he stumbles a bit as he gets Stiles out of the bathroom and follows him under the sheets. There’s a bottle of water and some granola bars resting on the nightstand, marked with _Defixio's_ sleek, black-on-black logo.

Derek breaks off a piece, holding it to plush lips, a bone-deep sense of satisfaction welling as Stiles takes food from his hand.

 _Mine_ , the back of his brain croons.

Stiles laps water droplets off the corner of Derek’s mouth, wet and wolf-like; he wonders - not for the first time - how much of it is deliberate, if Stiles knows the things he does to Derek.

Probably, and Jesus, it _gets_ to him, that Stiles responds to every part of Derek. That he understands the wolf and the man are one and the same.

He pulls Stiles into the curve of his body, needs to keep him wrapped up close, safe and protected. His fingers trace the curve of a hip, the notches of rib and spine, the dip of a collarbone.

“God, Stiles, you were such a good boy for me tonight. You don’t even know, how pretty you looked, how perfect you are.”

Stiles turns in his arms, tucking his head beneath Derek’s chin, tangling their legs together. His hands rests low on Derek’s belly, palm drifting back and forth, loose and casual.

“Everyone watching tonight wanted you, Stiles, wanted you to be wearing their marks, but you belong to me, don’t you, baby boy?”

“Mmhmm. Just yours, daddy.”

It’s not like it comes as a surprise - Stiles has been his since that first night, the first phone call, the first time he came with Derek’s name on his lips. It washes through him all the same, startling and warm, down to his toes, tingling at the nape of his neck.

Neither of them seems to move, but their mouths find each other regardless, tongues twisting languidly, lazy and sweet. He’ll never get tired of the way Stiles tastes, of the edge of contentment in his scent, the steady beat of his heart.

“Will you bring me back here sometime?”

“After tonight? Any time you want.” As if he could stay away, seeing how well Stiles took to it.

“I liked it, bleeding out for you while they watched. I liked it a lot.”

The words hit him low in the stomach, and Derek reminds his dick sternly that now’s not the time. In the morning, maybe, after soft human flesh has had a chance to recuperate. He dips his head against Stiles’ hair, soothing himself with lungfuls of sweet, tired boy-smell.

“I know you did, baby. We’ll do it again.”

It’s the last thing either of them says for a long time. Derek dozes, lulled by the gentle, steady thrum of Stiles’ body against his own. He’s so _warm_ , fuzzy with sleep and the press of naked skin, when Stiles stretches upward, dropping a kiss against Derek’s forehead.

“Love you.”

Derek wraps his arms more tightly around his boy, and lets himself tumble into sleep.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Love, as always, to [casualpahoehoe](http://casualpahoehoe.tumblr.com), who keeps my writing ball rolling, and to my adorable new beta, [jacyevans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans).
> 
> I'm still taking prompts for this series over at [my tumblr](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com), so let me know what you'd like to see next!
> 
> Title from Maroon 5's "Sunday Morning."


End file.
